


Bottoms Up

by kagedyams



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking Games, Featuring: Keg Stand Keith, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, gremlin pidge, pineapple pizza discourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-20 16:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagedyams/pseuds/kagedyams
Summary: Lance asked for their cutest delivery person. They sent Keith.





	Bottoms Up

In the twilight hours of the night, three people sit in the shadows of an empty room, the only sound a faint humming. One of them is chanting incoherent words, while the other two bow their heads, hands interlocked as if in prayer. And then, the illusion is shattered.

“Lance you can’t summon Beyoncé during a séance if she’s not even dead,” a voice chides, effectively stopping the chanting, which was just the murmured lyrics to _Lemonade._ Lance has the gall to look offended, pulling his hand away from the speaker.

“Pidge we’ve been over this. First of all, it’s called a Beyonséance. Secondly, Queen Bey transcends life and death, she won’t appear amongst non-believers,” Lance snorts, turning his nose away only to glimpse his other friend, Hunk, shrug in nonchalance.

“Traitors, the both of you,” he grumbles. Neither of them says anything, but Hunk does get up to turn on the lights.

Maybe having a séance to summon Beyoncé and snacks for Hunk isn’t the standard for three college kids on a Friday night, but Lance wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Except tickets to a Beyoncé concert. He’d sell both of his friends’ souls for those tickets, granted that Pidge even had one. It was a hot topic of a debate that nobody participated in. Neither Hunk nor Pidge were invested enough in campus life to ever attend any of the raging parties that occurred any given Friday, and Lance fell into that same category by association. Also because he was banned from Delta Kappa Phi because of an unfortunate incident that involved a lap dance, no less than five body shots, and the stolen anatomical model from Professor Honerva’s classroom. _Really, a damn shame._

“Anyone else getting kind of hungry?” Hunk asks, rubbing his stomach. They had been snacking off of vending machine goodies and more than a healthy amount of alcohol for the better part of the night, and Hunk lamented the fact that Lance had literally no _actual_ food in his dorm.

“I still don’t know why you have 5 Costco boxes of Go-Gurt and nothing else in that fridge. What was even the point of buying a mini-fridge if there’s nothing in it?” Hunk moans, closing the door to the fridge and toppling onto the sofa next to Pidge. There’s a Go-Gurt squeezable firmly lodged in her mouth.

“There’s not ‘nothing’ in it, it has my Go-Gurt!” Lance protests, moving to get a squeezable from the fridge as well. “And it’s a perfectly acceptable thing! They were on sale and look; they have these cute little cartoon characters on them! Plus if you suck out all the ‘gurt it reveals a joke!” overly passionate about his Go-Gurt as always, six staged interventions and he still didn’t quit. “Okay look, look. Why did the baseball player get arrested?” He reads it, having thoroughly sucked out the yogurt in record time.

There’s silence. Both Pidge and Hunk have blank looks on their faces, staring down at Lance, who is waiting for an answer. He’s got that shit-eating grin that they both know won’t go away until someone says something. With the resignation of a senior citizen finally signing up for Colonial Penn, Hunk concedes. “Why did he get arrested, Lance?”

There’s a short giggle, and a hiccup induced by both the beer and the rapid-fire sucking of Go-Gurt. “Because he stole second base!” Lance teeters off into unrepressed giggles, and Pidge smirks.

"Wow, he got farther than you ever did,” she says, leaning forward. Her glasses catch the light with a dangerous glean, and Hunk can almost smell the roast. Damn, that’s making him hungry.

Lance’s grin drops, a challenging look in his eye. “Oh? How do you know so much about my sex life?” he asks, quirking up a well-threaded eyebrow. Pidge scoffs, resting her elbows on her knees and propping her head up.

“Please, like the word _virgin_ isn’t written all over your face. The fact that you’re hanging out with us two losers on a Friday night is proof enough you can’t get any.” Hunk squawks in protest, but one glance from Pidge effectively kills any protest. He thinks for a minute and then nods his head as if conceding that yes, he is a loser.

Lance pouts and crosses his arms, turning his head away from Pidge. Okay, maybe he hasn’t done as much stuff as the average adult male might, but he’s done stuff! Like… like… oh! He held hands with Suzie Walker in seventh grade! _Totally_ happened. He’s a stud.

“Lance can’t we, like, order a pizza or something? Go-Gurt may be working for you, but some of us need actual food,” Hunk groans along with his stomach, making a pitiful noise like a wailing seal. Faced with the potential demise of his best friend, Lance has no choice but to agree. He pulls out his laptop and goes to the online orders for the closest delivery place open at piss o’clock at night.

“Is pineapple pizza okay?” Lance asks, glancing up. Hunk just gurgles, probably feasting off his own saliva or something. Pidge scowls.

“Why the ever-loving _fuck_ would you get pineapple pizza?” Pidge asks, her brow wrinkled in disgust.

“Umm, because it’s good?” Lance snorts as if it’s the obvious answer. Pidge just groans, returning her attention to her Go-Gurt. They’ve had this conversation more times than either of them can count, and it’s ended the same way every time. Lance types in the order.

“So I’ll get us an extra large pineapple pizza delivered. Is that gonna be enough?” He looks to Hunk just as his belly lets out a terrifying wail. “I’ll make that two extra larges,” Lance types it in. He reads over his order, confirming that he doesn’t accidentally forget to click the _tomato sauce_ this time. Feeling safe, he’s about to confirm his order when his eyes catch on the _Additional Instructions_ box. He smirks into the screen, typing rapidly. This will teach Pidge not to make fun of his panty-dropping good looks.

“Send your cutest delivery person”

 

By the time someone knocks on the door, Lance has thoroughly slurped three more Go-Gurts, and Pidge has salvaged the carcasses to make a necklace that now hangs upon a passed out (or dead) Hunk. The sudden jerk from Hunk when he hears the door confirms that he was just in some hunger coma. He looks to Lance like a puppy about to go for a walk.

Before Hunk can pee on the floor in his excitement, Lance is opening the door. “About time, Hunk looks like he’s about to eat Pidge, and she’s—“ he’s cut off by his own surprise when he looks up and sees the face of the delivery boy. Lance abruptly slams the door.

He asked for their cutest delivery person. He got Keith fucking Kogane.

Pidge is looking at him skeptically. “Where’s the pizza?” she asks, noting how Lance is just frozen with one hand on the door and the other buried in his back pocket to fish out his wallet. He opens his mouth, shuts it, furrows his brow and takes a deep breath.

“They sent Keith,” Lance finally chokes out. Pidge’s jaw drops, and Hunk even manages a few hand movements and a low _hrsng hnng?_

“Keith? As in Keg Stand Keith? That Keith?” Yes, that Keith, Lance’s eternal rival. The one who shamed him away from every keg stand and beer pong competition for the rest of his college career. Yes, _that_ Keith.

A series of agitated knocks on the door breaks Lance out of his panic. Shit, Keith is there. And he has his precious pizzas hostage. Quick, he needs a battle strategy.

He could send Hunk in to receive the pizza and scare him away. But just one glance at Hunk and Lance can cross out that option. He’s stolen the duvet from the couch and has firmly wrapped himself in it, muttering something about being his own burrito.

The other option is giving the money to Pidge and letting her handle it. She wasn’t around when Keith ousted Lance, but she knows all about his sordid past and his hate for the greasy-haired mullet boy. But knowing her and knowing how she gets when she’s tipsy, she’d probably invite the devil in for some pineapple pizza and beer.

The knocking at his door doesn’t stop, but it is accompanied by an, “Oi! You ordered this pizza, get back out here and pay for it!” If he locks himself in his mini fridge, he could probably survive with the Go-Gurt for a few weeks, or at least until Keith decides to fuck himself away from the apartment. With a resigned sigh, he opens the door.

“Yeah, yeah I hear you. I’m just so disappointed, I guess they read my request wrong and sent the ugliest person they could find,” Lance sneers, leaning against the door with that same shit-eating smirk he has when he’s about to say something incredibly stupid. “Do I get a discount since you’ve defiled my beautiful pizza?”

“No,” Keith deadpans, looking ready to throw the pizza in his face and bolt. “But I think the pineapple on it already defiled it plenty.” _Oh, he did not._

“How about you say that to my face!” Lance is up in arms, as he is any time Keith’s name is even mentioned.

“I just did. Pineapple pizza is disgusting.” Keith responds, pushing the box towards Lance. He hears Pidge laugh and say something like _I told you so,_ but Lance sagely decides to ignore it. Figures Keith would be one of _those_ people. Absolute devils.

“If you don’t like it so much, hand it over,” Lance says, grabbing the box. “I’m afraid if I have to look at your dumb mullet any longer I’ll go blind.”

Keith scowls but doesn’t respond, instead thrusting the two boxes into Lance’s hands. “That’ll be $17.50.” Lance moves out of the doorway to put the pizza boxes down on a nearby table, and close enough to Hunk that he can finally mobilize and eat.

He’s only gone for a few seconds. Ten seconds, max. He’s putting the box down on the table when he hears two voices. He doesn’t notice the gleam in Hunk’s eyes when he inhales the smell of freshly baked dough. “Oh no,” is all Lance says, leaving Hunk unattended with the pizza (possibly a decision he’ll later regret) in favor of avoiding what is sure to be a disaster.

Pidge is talking to Keith.

Lance grits his teeth, angling past Pidge towards Keith. He pulls out his wallet, handing him a $20 bill. “Is that all? You can leave now, Queef,” Lance growls.

“It’s Keith!” the other boy barks back in indignation. Lance shrugs.

“Po _ta_ to Pota _to_.”

“That’s—“ Keith is about to say something back, but Pidge cuts off by wrapping an arm around Keith’s neck and pulling him down so he’s her height. “Hey!”

Pidge disregards him, shooting Lance a look that sends dread right into his veins. There’s no way anything coming out of her mouth is going to be pleasing to hear. Maybe he could push them both out the door and lock it? “Anyways, I was talking to this guy, turns out you were his last delivery of the night. So….” _Don’t say it,_ Lance pleads, not sure if that prayer should go to God or Satan. Whichever one sent this little gremlin into his life. “Maybe it’s time for a rematch?” _Fuuuuck._

Lance scoffs. “Nuh-uh, no way. He insulted my pizza, there’s no way I’m letting him spread his dandruff all over my dorm.”

“Yeah, there’s no way I’m going into this guy’s room,” Keith wrinkles his nose, peering past Lance to where Hunk is inhaling the pizza the same way a college student would with coffee during finals week.

Predictably, Lance takes offense with that. Pidge almost fist pumps at how smoothly this is going.

“What’d you say? What’s wrong with my dorm? It’s got Go-Gurt and it smells like shea butter!” Keith looks unimpressed, but Lance practically forces him in. “Inhale the wondrous scent of a thorough beauty routine! I’d give you some tips, but you’re pretty much a lost cause,” Lance shrugs, smiling to himself at the burn.

“Hunk, I hope you saved some of that for the rest of us. And by the rest of us I mean me, because Pidge and Queef are heathens and don’t understand the beauty of pineapple on pizza.” He plops down next to Hunk, noting immediately how one of the boxes is already empty. He opens the other and takes a slice.

“I told you, it’s Keith! And I work in a pizza restaurant, I doubt I could eat that anyway after having to be around pizzas all day,” he says. He’s resigned himself to entering Lance’s dorm, Pidge nudging him further in.

Hunk gives Keith an incredulous look. “Dude, that’s a dream job right there. Don’t disrespect the _‘za_ man,” Hunk shakes his head. He’s seemed to accept Keith’s presence as if it were a regular occurrence, which it wasn’t.

Keith looks down when he accidentally kicks an empty beer can. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to sit. Honestly, he didn’t even want to be here but his shift’s over and he knows his dorm mate is having a “low-key” get-together with some friends. Which was code for smoking in their bathroom and maybe engaging in an orgy. He feels a hand around his wrist, and he’s tugged down onto the couch next to a grinning Pidge.

“So, Keith,” she starts, and he can already feel an uncomfortable barrage of questions come forth. He knows Pidge, but only because they share a Theoretical Physics class and there was that one time last year when she hacked the school’s website for April Fools and filled it with pictures of Lance asleep. That was funny. “What’s the story behind you and that guy,” she jabs her thumb in the direction of Lance. He’s glaring at the two of them, flicking his tongue over a pineapple chunk on his pizza as if to say _look how good this pizza is, I’m ravishing this pineapple._

Keith shrugs, picking up an unopened beer can from the table and popping the tab, taking a swig while choicely ignoring Lance. He was too sober to be thinking about how tantalizing his tongue was while it flicked at the sour fruit. _Way_ too sober.

“I beat him in a keg stand contest during a Halloween party,” he said with the nonchalance of someone scooping up their dog’s poop during a walk: totally natural despite the shit on their hands.

Lance almost spit out his pizza. “That’s not what happened!” He retorted, shooting to his feet. A chunk of pineapple falls from his pizza during the action, but Hunk slides under Lance to smoothly catch it in his mouth. No crumbs left behind.

“Oh, really?” Keith hid his grin behind his beverage, instead quirking an eyebrow at the affronted man. “I may have been drunker than my Aunt Rose at a wedding reception, but I distinctly remember you falling face first to the floor the minute we started,” he chuckles. Pidge guffaws at the mental image, going the full length and slapping at her own knee.

“You’re missing the full story!” Lance tries to defend the last of his dignity amongst his two friends, both of whom had long forsaken the idea of Lance having any dignity in the first place. “First of all, I was dressed up as Dracula, do you know how hard it is to do a keg stand with fake fangs? Not to mention Tim got caught in my cape and fell over, which made me fall too. If it was a fair fight I would’ve beaten you any day!” Lance challenges, biting into his pizza with a new ferocity as if that could help demonstrate his seriousness.

“Oh yeah?” Keith rises to the bait; standing from his seat as he crushes the now empty beer can in his hand. “Prove it, right now.”

 Lance finishes his pizza and steps right into his face. He’s about to speak when Hunk, who had finally gotten his fill and was now back on the mortal plane, speaks. “Uh, guys? Hate to break up this anime fight scene or whatever you guys are up to, but we don’t have any kegs in here. Unless you want a Go-Gurt slurping contest? But, warning you here Keith, Lance is a master sucker,” he says. They all decide to ignore Pidge’s snide comment of _yeah he sure knows how to suck._

Lance side-eyes his pal and nods. “You hunk of funk, you are totally right. But we do have enough alcohol to get a sperm whale hammered, and that is what truly matters,” Lance nods to himself, returning his gaze to Keith. “So what of it? Ready to get _thoroughly thrashed_ by Lancey Lance?” he jeers. Once again, they all ignore Pidge’s peanut gallery commentary of _phrasing, Lance._

Keith nods his assent, and the four of them set to clearing off the table (mostly by haphazardly swiping everything onto the floor) to make room for two cases of beer.

“Since Lance is too much a weenie to get any _actual_ liquor, the first to finish the case wins,” Pidge, the judge for the round, announces. Lance wants to bite back about the age-old customs of drinking beer, but she interrupts before he can even begin. “Passing out or throwing up means you lose.”

Lance nods. He’s already knocked back quite a few since he started earlier, but the pizza’s helped sober him up, and alcohol is no stranger to him. Before The Incident, Delta Kappa Phi was a regular haunt, and they were not a fraternity that shied away from a little bit of alcohol.

“If I win, you have to call me Master for a whole week,” Lance tells Keith, sticking out his tongue. Keith cringes.

“What kind of kink is that? And what about if I win,” Keith challenges.

“I’ll do anything you say,” Lance declares proudly. Keith scoffs.

“Boring,” he mutters, but doesn’t offer up anything else. With that, the game begins.

They both manage to survive the first three cans easily, downing them like water during a heat wave. Keith wipes the liquid from his upper lip when he pulls away from his empty fourth can with a satisfied gasp. Lance trails the action, watching as a droplet of amber liquid traces down his middle finger as he reaches for his next can. _Ooookay,_ he thinks, burying his thoughts under another swig of beer. _Maybe I’m getting a little drunk._

 It hits Lance just as he knocks back his sixth can. He grabs the table to stop himself from swaying into Keith as the room spins. Keith looks at him with amusement, burping after pulling away from his own can. “Getting queasy already?” he teases. He’s got a clear smirk on his face, the only sign of his inebriation being the way his eyes shift just past Lance and into a wall, as if dazed. Lance finishes off his drink to prove a point.

“This ain’t my first rodeo, cowboy,” Lance mocks as he fumbles at the tab of his next can. He hooks his finger into the aluminum, slipping slightly as he tries to pull the top off. Maybe he looks like a drunk idiot, but Keith’s been groping at the air next to his can, so he’s not the worst-off in the room.

Lance can measure how drunk he’s getting with the frequency of his gay thoughts. One moment he’s fighting his gag reflex with another can of beer, the next he’s licking his lips as he watches the amber liquid slide past Keith’s slightly parted lips and down his neck, accentuating the curve of his Adam’s apple that Lance _so_ wants to suck on right now. Keith catches his desire-addled stare and smirks.

“Slowing down?” He teases, obviously too far-gone to notice how ready Lance is to suck the soul out of him through his mouth.

“Hah, slowing down? I’m speeding up!” Lance guffaws as he quickly downs his next drink. Keith, never one to back down, immediately does the same.

Needless to say, that decision doesn’t go well for either of them.

To this day, nobody can recall who went down first. Lance swears it was Keith, Keith swears it was Lance, and Pidge was too busy stealing drinks from the both of them to really care. Regardless, somewhere in the middle of their seventh cans both Keith and Lance managed to both fall onto their backs, effectively calling it quits on their game.

Pidge looks at the two of them, thoroughly unimpressed, and continues to sip on her own can. Hunk, in the corner, turns away from where he was experimenting dipping his pizza in beer (a bad idea, but when drunk its an amazing idea), to look at the two college kids sprawled on the floor. “Are they gonna be okay?” He asks Pidge, who just shrugs without pulling her mouth away from her can. Hunk, still the compassionate friend even when a little more than tipsy, uncrosses his legs and pokes at Lance with his big toe. Lance shoots up abruptly.

“ _Mierda! No he visto tu maldita vaca!”_ he exclaims, kicking his legs up and nearly smacking Hunk in the face with a well-timed kick if Pidge had not pulled him back. Now upright, Lance looks more than a bit confused as he squints at Hunk, then Pidge, and finally at the empty beer cans lining his table like a trophy of his accomplishments. “ _Oi Dio,_ what happened?” he asks, wiping at his mouth, which is feeling suspiciously sticky from the booze.

“You had an idiot competition with your fellow idiot over there,” Pidge juts her chin out, and Lance follows it to see Keith, who had rolled onto his chest and was sticking his ass up in the air, looking like he could sleep like a caterpillar for the next 10,000 years. Lance looks satisfied, nodding to himself and muttering incoherencies before he promptly collapses onto his back.

At this point, Hunk has given up on trying to sober up Lance. A few more futile foot nudges later, he abandons all hope and turns his attention to Pidge. “Crash Bandicoot?” Hunk says. Like a sleeper agent hearing a code word, Pidge goes rigid. The empty beer can drops from her hand and clatters onto the floor. A light flashes in Pidge’s eyes, and she smirks.

“Crash Bandicoot,” she confirms, immediately hopping to her feet and towards the gaming console set up in the corner, which had been abandoned hours earlier after Lance started kicking people (read: Hunk) when they beat him in Mario Kart. The theme music starts up just as Pidge is settling into Hunk’s lap, his arms wrapped around her and both of their hands gripping a controller.

Officially dead to the world in favor of their retro video games, they don’t notice the two drunkards regaining consciousness. Keith groans as he collapses onto his side, opening his eyes to find himself face to face with Lance. His eyes are still closed, but his lips are smacking together as if he were chewing. Keith chuckles, eyes tracing over the lines of his lips. He’s still foggy from the beer, but it’s not the worst shape he’s ever been in.

“Hey shitface,” Keith addresses Lance, his voice coming out croaky. Lance grumbles, but his eyes open, focusing slowly on Keith’s face. Neither of them move, their faces uncomfortable close to the point Keith can smell the pineapple as Lance’s breath fans his face.

“What’s up, asshat?” Lance whispers back. At point blank, Keith can see a faint smattering of freckles along Lance’s tanned cheeks and nose, probably from all the time he’s spent out in the sun. It’s…. attractive.

“Why’d you stop coming to the parties?” Keith asks suddenly, and Lance senses something in the question. Hurt? Confusion? He can’t place it, and the thrumming in the back of his mind is saying he doesn’t _want_ to name the feeling.

Lance avoids eye contact, focusing instead on Keith’s chin. He wants to wiggle away or turn his face, but the effort required is far too great at this point. “It’s just…” Should he be telling Keith this? His words die abruptly on his tongue, never reaching Keith’s ears just a few inches away. His eyes rove upwards, but the intense look in Keith’s gaze causes him to balk. He looks to be egging him on, as if truly concerned as to why Lance stopped his weekly escapades of beer pong and jello shots. “It’s kinda embarrassing to admit,” Lance finishes lamely.

“I won't laugh,” Keith promises, and there’s a seriousness there that Lance is taken aback by. Who would’ve predicted he’d spend his midnight hours opening up to Keith? Usually his three o’clock thoughts were privy to Hunk only.

Lance caves under the intensity of Keith’s gaze. “It’s awkward to show up after… after what happened. Everyone knows me now as ‘the guy who lost to Keith’ and all that. I just went there to have fun and let loose, but now it's all competitions and trying to be better than you. I couldn’t take it.” Lance is about to turn his body away, but he’s stopped by Keith’s hand. He raises his face in surprise, only to be greeted by a warm presence on his lips.

He’s being kissed.

Someone is kissing him.

_Keith is kissing him._

The shock itself almost gets Lance to pull away, but the heat from Keith’s mouth makes him second-guess. His lips are soft and taste like beer, and they slot smoothly against Lance’s. Lance brings his hand up to curl into the end of Keith’s hair, not even breaking the kiss to be disgusted by the fact he’s voluntarily touching Keith’s mullet. Keith opens his mouth, lips moving down and then clamping around Lance’s bottom lip, sucking slightly at the flesh in a way that makes Lance moan. _Damn,_ he did not think Keith would be such a good kisser.

Keith pulls away, and Lance opens his eyes slowly, taking in the wetness around Keith’s lips and the way his breath is coming out in short spurts, exhilarated by the kiss. There’s a quirk to the ends of Keith’s lips, and Lance identifies it as a smile.

“I missed you Lance. Even after you left, I kept looking for you at every keg and competition. I liked being able to have fun and tease each other at the parties… I like you,” Keith admits. His eyes lower to Lance’s lips, and he’s about to move in for another kiss but then.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

Lance feels his throat constrict tightly, and he’s up on his feet in a flash, leaving Keith aroused and more than a little confused. Lance thunders down the hallway, whipping open his bathroom door not a moment too soon as he releases the night’s load of Go-Gurt, pineapple pizza and beer into his toilet.

“You asshole!” he can hear Keith shout from down the hall. “You don’t have to throw up after I confess my feelings for you!” Lance’s laughter turns into another load down the toilet.

 

The next morning, everyone save Pidge wakes up with an awful hangover that has each of them missing their first morning class in favor of building a fort with couch cushions built to block out any and all light.

“Did one of y’all make me eat pineapple pizza? My mouth tastes disgusting,” Keith grumbles, smacking his lips in disgust.

Lance hides his blush with a retort, “I hear you’re much more honest when you’re drunk. Maybe you’ve been holding out on your pineapple on pizza tendencies, and only a good old drinking game can bring it out,” Lance teases.

“Or a good old make out session!” Comes Pidge’s voice from beyond their cushion sanctuary. Lance’s face explodes into a new shade of red, and he shouts obscenities out past their fort that has Hunk threatening to kick him out if he dare make any more noise. They all settle down to sleep off their hangovers, but Hunk does notice how Keith’s hand inches closer to Lance’s. Lance reaches out and entwines his fingers with Keith’s just before all three of them pass out.

**Author's Note:**

> uhh yeah so im writing a lengthy angst fic for a bang and i needed something to Calm Down™ so I tried something humorous for the first time in a while. Idk how well it went, I actually haven't written anything in like months so pls be nice to me im sensitive. 
> 
> uhh yeah comments and kudos are nice also pls validate me?? Gave up on proofing like 10% of the way through so pls don't hate me im here for a good time not a long time.  
> kagedyams.tumblr.com


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